#minorinterest

Why did people always have to stare at her while she was praying? Why couldn’t he just be asleep right now, when she could actually use him being asleep?

    “    okay,  see,  i  don’t  really  know  why  you’re  getting  so  worried  because  i  absolutely  definitely  know  where  we’re  going !  in  fact,  we  should  be  catching  up  with  everyone  else  riiiiiight  about  …  oh.  ”

    caspar  emerges  from  the  brush,  fully  expecting  to  find  their  professor  and  the  rest  of  their  classmates  waiting  right  where  they’d  left  them.  but,  unfortunately,  the  clearing  is  —  well,  it’s  empty.  it  shouldn’t  be,  though.  he’d  sort   of  knicked  the  trees  with  his  sword  to  find  their  way  back,  so  this  definitely  should’ve  been  where  everyone  was.

    groaning,  he  turns  back,  and  there’s  linhardt,  giving  him  one  of  those  looks.  ah,  geez.  caspar  shifts  up  onto  the  tips  of  his  toes  to  peer  over  linhardt’s  shoulder  at  one  of  the  tree trunks  behind  him.  there’s  a  mark  there,  but  …  looking  at  it  closer  now,  that’s  not  from  his  sword.  looks  like  an  animal  had  gotten  there  first.

    “    uh,    ”  is  all  caspar  says  at  first.  he  clears  his  throat  and  slowly  takes  a  few  steps  back  from  linhardt.  not  that  he  expects  linhardt  to  do  anything,  but,  you  know,  just  in  case.  “    well  …  i  doubt  they’d  just  leave  without  us.  we  should  just  stay  put  and  wait !  the  professor’s  probably  looking  for  us  right  this  second !    ”

Linhardt, passed out and drooling onto the pages of a book, wasn’t exactly something that surprised Ingrid when she entered the library. Even the loud clonking of her riding boots against the wooden floors, made all the more deafening by the relative silence of the library wasn’t enough to wake him. Were it anyone else, she’d have been surprised. But it was him. Not that Ingrid had tried waking him too many times before, but she was fairly certain nothing short of a slap to the face would awaken Linhardt.

In lieu of that, she merely plucked the book from underneath him, allowing his face to smack into table. A handkerchief was produced from her pockets, quickly cleaning off whatever saliva she could from the delicate pages. A hefty sigh escaped her, and she glanced down at Linhardt, then back to the book he was reading. Funny. This didn’t seem like his usual fare. It was just some fable, one she recognized quite easily-- not really something that could have any historical relevance as far as she was aware. Still, it seemed like he had awoken enough to answer her questions himself, so she might as well try.